


Fortuna

by samedifference61



Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Genre: First Time, M/M, Road Trip, Shadow has agency, Snowballing, deity induced euphoria, shared cigarettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 13:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11579214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samedifference61/pseuds/samedifference61
Summary: Before House on the Rock, Shadow and Sweeney are sent to roundup a mysterious goddess in Las Vegas.





	Fortuna

**Author's Note:**

> runs AU before House on the Rock. Follows more closely with characterizations/timeline from the television series, but some plot elements are borrowed from the book.
> 
> Hearts to my wonderful beta, KatieAmnesiaAndrews ([deathtosanepeople](http://archiveofourown.org/users/deathtosanepeople)) who assured me this didn't suck, and thanks to my loves at madmooncentral where many headcanons are borrowed or adapted. Thank you for getting this madmoon fic virgin's creativity flowing. ♥ Comments are much appreciated!

_“I conclude therefore that, fortune being changeful and mankind steadfast in their ways, so long as the two are in agreement men are successful, but unsuccessful when they fall out. For my part I consider that it is better to be adventurous than cautious, because fortune is a woman, and if you wish to keep her under it is necessary to beat and ill-use her; and it is seen that she allows herself to be mastered by the adventurous rather than by those who go to work more coldly. She is, therefore, always, woman-like, a lover of young men, because they are less cautious, more violent, and with more audacity command her.”_

_— Machiavelli, The Prince_

* * *

 

Three days in, they stop at a Denny’s somewhere in central Utah, endless miles of empty desert in either direction. It’s one in the morning, blackened night sky dotted with stars while a blanket of dry summer warmth hangs thick in the breeze. It takes ten minutes to argue Sweeney into stopping, into taking a break for the night, but eventually he gives in.

Sweeney’s leg bounces rhythmically against the underside of the greasy tabletop, knees almost too big to fit under the booth where they’re sitting across from each other. There’s a crushed pack of cigarettes next to him, all smoked today. Manufactured cigarettes, another concession he’d made when Shadow argued him out of rolling his own in the car. _Half of it ends up on the dash, man, just suck up your goddamned pride and buy a pack. You’re smoking them faster than you can roll them, anyway._ He’s smoked more than usual today, if Shadow happened to be counting those sorts of things.

“Are you okay?” Shadow asks, voice muffled around a mouthful of over easy eggs and over salted hash browns, not bothering to eat politely because he’s fucking starving, and because Sweeney doesn’t bother with politeness. Ever.  

Sweeney frowns down at his plate and consciously stills his leg under the table. Shadow’s never seen a plate piled with so much bacon before.“Fuck off, _Shadow Moon_.” He says Shadow’s name like it’s part of the insult.

When he’s finished, Shadow pushes his empty plate forward and slumps back in the booth, ready for a food coma at the Motel 6 across the parking lot. They’ve driven for nearly fourteen hours already today.

With his left hand, Sweeney shakes a coin out from somewhere near his wrist and flips it between his knuckles.

Maybe the strange behavior is just about being tired and hungry.

Shadow watches the coin disappear again, glimmering gold covered by quick fingers. The coin appears when Sweeney’s nervous or agitated, Shadow has noted, and lately Shadow has to hold onto something to keep himself from reaching out for it. He wants to feel the weight of it in his hand, memorize the ridges and knicks. He wants to know if it will warm to his hand just as the other coin did, or remain cool to the touch as Zorya Polunochnaya’s does. He gave Sweeney’s other coin away before he decided he wanted such a thing, and now he can't get it out of his mind.

Shadow says, “You’re tweaking out, man.”

The coin fumbles free of Sweeney’s fingers and clinks to the chipped tiles at their feet. That's odd. Sweeney bends to pick it up before Shadow can reach for it, then points his fork tines in Shadow’s direction, fisting the utensil like a weapon.

“That mother hen shite will only leave you with a broken jaw,” Sweeney threatens, but his words lack some of their usual malice, and he’s still taking care to avoid Shadow’s eyes.

Something is definitely off. Shadow tries an indirect approach. “You been to this place Caesar’s Palace before? I know it’s a big one, Roman themed, giant marble columns everywhere, or something like that. I’ve never been to Vegas before, so I know fuck all about how to approach this woman, to convince her to follow us to Wisconsin, but I did rip off a few casinos before they locked me up, so I have a general idea of how it might look inside. Bright lights. Too much noise. Slots and tables and—”

Sweeney cuts him off, “You haven’t a clue.”

But maybe Sweeney’s behavior and their destination are somehow related after all.

“She your ex or something? This _Fortuna_? That’s her name right?”

“We’re acquainted,” Sweeney says through his teeth, like he can’t bear to hear the name. His knee is bouncing again.  “Been a long time. _Too long_ ,” he amends, then cringes, giving something away he hadn’t intended.

“She’s like Wednesday, I’m assuming. And Ostara. And the one that lives in the Walmart TVs.”

“You’re a bright one, aren’t you?” Sweeney says, still frowning down at his plate. He’s drowning his food in imitation syrup now, a sticky-sweet mess of dribbling golden brown. “I wondered if I would have to spell it out for you in flashing neon lights, but I imagine we have fucken Vegas for that.”

Shadow will take the insults if it gets him information.

“So you’re nervous, then?”

Sweeney pauses mid bite and stares at Shadow, gives him a exasperated huff while stabbing more bacon.

“It’s not in my head,” Sweeney goes on, shoving food in his mouth. He’s annoyed now, and Shadow peers around them, just to keep his surroundings in mind. The place is empty aside from a cook and the waitress half-asleep in another booth across the room. Even if Sweeney couldn't care less, Shadow's hoping they’re not drawing attention, even from this limited crowd.

“ _This_ is what she does. I can’t turn it off when I want to ignore it. Not when I’m near enough to her. Only gets worse from here. _Fortuna—_ ” Sweeney clears his throat and has to blink back into his train of thought after a moment. “She’s— No. I doubt you’ll understand it, so I’d rather not spill my insides about something I cannot explain. English has limited vocabulary for such intangible and sacred fucken things, so just— _fucken leave it alone._ ”

He’s got Sweeney onto something, so Shadow prods a little further. “I don’t care about the details, but a general sense of what I’m walking into might help me prepare for something awful, if that’s what this is. Wednesday sent me with you for a reason.”

Sweeney laughs at that, a harsh and boisterous sound. “Awful? _Aye._ Downright horrifying, love. Not something for the kiddies. Ain’t that the honest fucken truth of it.”

* * *

 

Fortuna is not what he expects.

To be honest, Shadow doesn’t know what he expected but, it wasn’t this. He doesn't know why, but he envisioned a well lit board room with dozens of blank faced men in suits while he stood behind a fuming Sweeney demanding they be heard, demanding to see her.

In reality, Sweeney just walks around the main casino floor awhile, Shadow following, a little dazed by the scale of it all, rows and rows of table games and slots and waitresses carrying plastic trays with plastic drinks, tourists and regulars everywhere. Shadow trails after Sweeney until he stops behind a woman at an ancient _Wheel Of Fortune_ slot machine. She’s pressed shoulder to shoulder between two women in their eighties with visors and cataract glasses, mechanically feeding nickels into their lit and whirring machines. Annoyed, Shadow nearly asks what the fuck it is they're doing, before he realizes _Fortuna_ , the one they’ve driven across the country to meet, must be the one in the middle, the one Sweeney's staring at like he's lost for words.

When she turns to them, he notices her eyes first, a milky greyish blue with unseeing pupils. Her expression is unreadable, although Shadow feels immediately drawn in, like he would let her reach down into his soul and anchor the answers to every question he’ll ever ask to his organs and blood and bile until he’s ready to read them aloud, one at a time.

He wouldn’t really be surprised if she possessed the power to do that, not with the shit he’s seen in the last few weeks. Anything seems possible now.

She’s older, appearing in her fifties, though she's not as weathered as Wednesday. Shadow gets the same feeling around her, like he should give her his full attention. Her greying brown hair is braided with strands of gold into a thick rope, a glittering olive branch clip securing it high. Shadow imagines she was once the kind of woman men fought wars to keep under lock and key, but he also doubts they ever succeeded.

“Darling boy, how I've missed you.” Fortuna greets Sweeney with a familiar kiss on his cheek, one elegant hand pressed to his neck. Sweeney leans into it like a cat curling into its owner. “Let me see you,” she purrs, and takes his face in her hands, skimming over his features. She traces his cheekbones and the sockets of his eyes, pausing at his temples, and Sweeney just—  _lets her_. Lets a beautiful blind woman invasively grope his face in the middle of a crowded casino. The most surprising part is that no one around them really takes an interest, as if the patrons exist under a veil, and everyone here is just as blind as she.

Sweeney is losing focus rapidly, his attention zeroed in on Fortuna. This must be the reason Wednesday wanted him to come, so Shadow steps in to remind them both why they’re here. Fortuna turns to Shadow, unseeing eyes pinning him down like battered butterfly wings between the pages of a book.

“Shadow Moon, I’ve been waiting for you.” Her voice is pleasantly inviting, despite the restricting feeling of being pinned down.

She greets Shadow with a kiss as well, and the slight brush of lips leaves him flooded with overwhelming tranquility. It's airy and familiar, like he's felt it before but can't remember when. She places a silky hold upon his heart until it’s beating in time with the rhythm most appealing to her.

Shadow meets her eyes, unafraid, and she smiles warmly.

“I guess Wednesday warned you we were coming. There’s to be a meeting—”

“Aren't you charming,” she says, neither confirming nor denying. “I'll save you the speech,” Fortuna insists, raising a hand to stop Shadow from continuing. “Wednesday's war means nothing to me, Shadow Moon. I'll remain neutral, as I always have and always will when it comes to these matters.” he sighs, as if she makes this speech regularly. “I’ve been here a long time, and have seen our kind come and go. I have accepted it as the way of this world, and we aren’t meant to fight it. Even as handsome as you are, there isn't anything you can say to change that. That's the message you can give Wednesday when you return to him in Madison.” Shadow wants to protest, but his lips won't move, caught in her orbit just as Sweeney is.

She sets her gaze upon Sweeney once again and brings a palm to his cheek. She speaks to him in a language Shadow doesn’t understand. It sounds old and rhythmic. He’s fairly certain it’s not Gaelic though it has the same cadence to it. Shadow looks at Sweeney for some clue as to its meaning, but Sweeney just shivers hard, a full body convulsion. This is an entirely different hold than the one Wednesday has on Sweeney, and that’s just— fascinating _._

Fortuna turns to the woman sitting at her right, she says, “This blasted machine isn't worth my time,” indicating the slot machine where she was sitting when they found her.

The woman eyes the machine suspiciously, blinking between Shadow and Sweeney, before turning back to her own machine.

Fortuna says to them behind a cupped hand, “She’ll take it as soon as I'm out of sight. I don't mind.”

Shadow tries again. “Ma’am, Mr. Wednesday asked us to come here—”

“Of course I don't want you both to think you've come all this way for nothing,” she interrupts. “That would be terribly impolite. Stay as long as you like. Give yourselves a break, because once you’re in motion again, back to Madison, the opportunities presented here will elude you. Speak to the concierge in the hotel lobby. The staff know you’re here and will show you to a suite on the tenth floor, my favorite room. Don't worry over the bill, they'll add it to Wednesday's tab. God knows, he owes me.” She winks before sweeping off in the direction of the money exchange booth, a plastic bucket of earnings tucked in the crook of one elbow and a walking stick in her other one. She touches the furniture as she goes, but doesn't appear to need much support in finding her way.

Shadow takes hold of Sweeney’s forearm when it's apparent he means to follow.

“I’ve only just met her, but I don't think she's the kind of person you just _follow_ ,” Shadow says. Sweeney’s body is humming with energy, a livewire ready to snap. Shadow can feel it, and if he doesn’t hold Sweeney back, he’s going to make a colossal fool of himself. As courteous as she’s been, he imagines the security in this place would have none of it.

Sweeney looks down at his arm in Shadow’s grip and then slowly back up at Shadow. “If you touch me, I hope you intend to do something about it.”

Tweaking out, indeed. Spoiling for something in the absence of whatever kind of high he's getting from Fortuna’s direct attention.

“She’s some kind of airborne drug to you. An aphrodisiac.”

Sweeney grits out, “Let go of my _fucken_ arm.”

“I’m just making observations.” Shadow lets him go, and Sweeney looks a little disappointed and a lot frustrated, before blinking a few times and swearing to himself. He seems to be coming out of whatever trance she put him in. Without explanation, he starts walking in the opposite direction of Fortuna, folding his hands into fists before releasing them. There’s nothing else for Shadow to do but follow.

Shadow trails him to a bar closed off with glassed walls within the casino main floor. Through the maze of people Sweeney seems to know where he’s going. The heavy smell of cigars hits him as he enters the bar, tucking between people that make a path for Sweeney up ahead. Maybe it’s his height, or maybe it’s something else.

“This is all your dead wife's fault, you know. If I had my fucken coin—”

“You gave _me_ that coin,” Shadow reminds him.

Sweeney bares his teeth but doesn't say any more about it.

At the bar, he orders a double Southern Comfort and Shadow raises two fingers to let the bartender know he’ll have the same. Sweeney charges both to Wednesday’s tab and drums his fingers on the bar while he waits.

“What are we going to do about her?” Shadow asks.

“Did you not hear her? _It’s already done._ We’ll tell Wednesday it’s not worth pursuing, not unless he wants us dead for trying. She won't tolerate saying _no_ twice; I’ll tell you that one from personal experience.”

“There has to be another way,” Shadow says, mostly to himself. He mulls it over until the shots are poured.  Sweeney downs his in two swallows and leaves the ice at the bottom of the glass. He raises his brows when Shadow does the same, but Sweeney just shrugs and orders a second round.

“Lucky Strikes too. If you have them. Add that to the tab.”

Sweeney grunts at Shadow’s forwardness, a corner of his mouth ticking into a smile. Shadow catches on pretty quickly when he knows the rules.

He must think better of it though, because Sweeney says, “You don’t know how these things work, so don’t fuck around. It’s a good way to get yourself in a world of trouble, and trust me on that, it’s not a place you want to be. Owing one of _them_ for something _you_ wanted— You think Wednesday's a terror? I'm living on borrowed time for that shite now, and it ain't worth all the gold in this life or the next.”

Shadow leans against the bar and lights a cigarette. He’s not much of a smoker, but sometimes when there’s liquor coating his belly, it’s nice. Perhaps an idea for what to do about all of this will come to him with a little help.

“Maybe if one of you actually explained it to me, I’d be in a better position to make decisions about my own safety.”

“I told you who I am,” Sweeney says and without asking, takes the lit cigarette from Shadow’s lips and brings it to his own, sucks it down like if he can take enough in, it might burn down to his soul.

Slightly annoyed, Shadow lights a second one for himself. “Yeah, a fucking leprechaun who plucks coins out of the air and turns into a bitch baby around beautiful blind women.”

Sweeney points the end of his cigarette at Shadow. “Fuck you. Do you even get who she is? She’s the one. _The only one_ who can turn all of this shite around in any way she wishes. Has me and my kind by the sac, always has. I don’t know how I’m standing upright, to be right fucken honest. You should be glad she doesn’t get you so high off your fucken face, you would rather crawl at her feet for the rest of your life than be anywhere else. Being near her, _touching her_ , it’s better than any drug— natural, synthetic or otherwise— in this world, and a few _not_ of this world, and believe me, I’ve done the _fucken_ lot of them.”

“I can see you’re really suffering,” Shadow says, smiling easily now.

So she is one of them, protector of luck or wealth or good karma or something, and Shadow can see why a Leprechaun would be attracted to that, would actively worship the kind of power she exudes. And maybe being around thousands of people who believe they might solve all their problems with the next shuffled deck or pull of a gilded lever also has something to do with it. There’s an energy to this place, humming through the walls, and while it’s muted for him, Shadow can feel it all the same. Roadside attractions aside, Fortuna has adapted to a place well suited to her gifts. Shadow can find little fault in that.

Sweeney downs the second Southern Comfort and asks for a third, but adds Coke to it this time. “Makes me horny as all fuck too. Should be out finding me a good lay, or a gang of them, don’t have any care over size, color or sex. Over eighteen’s all I ask, ain’t looking for prison, just some fucken _relief_.”

“This is your one good day, huh? Though you should be careful with the whiskey dick, my friend.” Shadow points to Sweeney’s glass. “It will kill your mood faster than _the fair Fortuna_ turning you down.”

“Aye,” Sweeney nods, setting his glass down hard enough to shatter it. Not bothering to insult Shadow this time, he reaches down to adjust his cock and gives it a squeeze. “Don’t think that’s even possible,” he frowns down at his pants. It's too earnest not to earn a chuckle from Shadow, slightly tipsy as he is.

This feels right. Humoring Sweeney with liquor heavy eyes and cigarettes shared between them. He's not sure when Sweeney became more companion than nuisance, but that's fine. He doesn’t need to spend time analyzing the why or how. There are too many other things to question.

The room begins to soften at the edges, lights and sounds fading out, and Shadow just breathes. Maybe they’ll both have one good day, night, or whatever, soak up all the good fortune in this place and store it away for later. It's likely they'll need something other than Wednesday's bluster to sustain them at some point.

“I can still feel her, you know. Near like, and in that general direction.” Sweeney waves vaguely toward the left of the bar. “When _you_ started to look appealing, back around Salt Lake, that’s how I knew my head was about to go swimming in fucked up adult playground Candyland. Crackers is what it is. What she does to me.”

“You wish you were so lucky,” Shadow teases.

Perhaps they both need a chance to breathe.

“Look,” Sweeney begins, sliding in close, head lowered so no one else can hear. “I'm only going to offer this once, and it's purely for convenience’s sake, so take it or leave it and if you poke fun, or even fucken—  _smirk_ , I swear to all the holy beings that walk this forsaken earth, I’ll break your fucken face open and leave you to bleed out right here.”

“This should be good.” Shadow smiles, letting the warmth of the liquor settle into his bones and the nicotine soothe the rest.  He isn’t afraid of Sweeney’s proposal, already has a pretty good idea of what he might say anyway.

Sweeney pulls the last drag from his cigarette and takes his time stubbing it out. For someone so brash, he's thinking this over with careful consideration, and that’s just—

Shadow nearly says something chiding, but when he looks up, Sweeney’s eyes are ablaze with something dangerous and barely contained. “You ever been fucked by a Leprechaun, Shadow Moon?”

* * *

 

Shadow, at least, has every intention of making it to their promised suite before their clothing comes off, but Sweeney— he’s got another agenda altogether. And isn’t that a summary of their sometimes-friendship?

Because Shadow’s a little bit drunk, but mostly because Sweeney is fucking begging for it, Shadow finds himself with his pants shoved around his thighs and half his ass in the sink of the bar restroom. Sweeney complains too loudly about getting down on his knees, and he's too tall and too impatient for anything else. Crowds Shadow up against the counter until he has no choice but to comply. It happens a little too fast, and Sweeney is suddenly swallowing him down without much of a prologue. _Fuck._ Shadow hadn’t really thought this through, if he’s being honest with himself, the head-spinning, heart-racing, teeth-clenching kind of pleasure that goes with getting your cock sucked after going so long without.

It's empty and echoey, this room, heavy marble in shades of black and blue, awash in faded light that makes your skin glow ethereal. A careful trick so you feel confident and spend more money because of it. “Is that door even locked?” Shadow pants out, grabbing at the back of Sweeney’s head to get him to fucking focus. Someone needs to be the adult in the room.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Sweeney says, lips already swollen and shiny, and pulls off to nuzzle into Shadow’s thigh in a way that makes Shadow’s toes curl. He's not entirely sure if Sweeney’s aware he’s doing it. “If you can think about privacy, I’m doing a shite job of getting you off,” he mumbles into Shadow's thigh.

“Fuck it,” Shadow gives in and grabs a fist-full of Sweeney’s hair to redirect him. Sweeney bites into Shadow’s thigh, lips curled into a smug smile. Either Sweeney’s really good at giving head, or Shadow’s just touch deprived, but whatever the combination, it’s really fucking good. Hot mouth, wet suction, and a big hand anchoring his cock at the base. He’s so close already, and he thinks about warning Sweeney; that would be polite after all, but something impulsive and wild takes over instead, and so he doesn’t.  

When Shadow comes, it draws out a sound he’s never heard himself make before, deep and guttural and shaky, and it echos so loudly against the marble tile of the wall that he’s sure it couldn’t have gone unnoticed by every single person in this building.

After he pulls off, Sweeney crowds Shadow further back against the sink counter until Shadow’s head hits the mirror behind them and he's arching backward with Sweeney hovering over him, nearly in his lap. Sweeney’s still fisting Shadow’s spent cock between them, and Shadow has to reach down to still Sweeney’s hand when he feels pinned down with too much sensation.

Shadow finally opens his eyes because Sweeney hasn’t said a word yet. Grabbing a fistful of Sweeney’s jacket in protest, Shadow pants out, “Don’t—” because he’s somehow still pretending he has any control over what’s happening.

Sweeney grabs at the back of Shadow’s neck, and presses their mouths together anyway.

It’s the dirtiest thing Shadow’s ever experienced, his own sticky come curled around another man’s tongue, Shadow’s sure he’ll amend his list of dirtiest things he’s ever done before Sweeney’s finished with him tonight. _Fuck._ There’s a brief moment of panic when he realizes how very fucked he is, but it passes soon enough, just as Sweeney's mouth softens against his, less urgent and more pliant after the initial push. Shadow likes this more than he would have thought, Sweeney relaxing against him, so he tries to subtly slide him closer with his calves pressed into Sweeney’s ass.

There's no reason to stop now, so he reaches down to grab at Sweeney's clothed cock nudged up between them. Sweeney grunts in surprise and takes hold of Shadow’s wrist, holding him still while Sweeney ruts up against the heel of his palm.

They should really move this along, limited time in semi-public spaces and all, so Shadow tries to unzip the front of Sweeney's pants and get his hand on skin, but Sweeney stills him, fingernails digging into his wrist while hissing, “Wait,” against his lips.

“I'm just trying to get you off here. Return the favor—”

That's a selfish lie. He can feel the shape of Sweeney's cock, and he's fucked around with guys before, but he's never wanted to see it, feel the weight of another man’s cock in his hand before, not with this kind of focused urgency.

It's this place. That woman. It's getting to him.

Sweeney smirks, immediately picking up on Shadow’s petulance. “Not to reject your enthusiasm, love, but I promise waiting will make it so much better.” As if that explains anything at all. What a conceited asshole. Shadow scoots forward and Sweeney gives him some space to maneuver so he can quickly pull his pants up, tucking himself back in. It absolutely bothers him that Sweeney has managed better composure than him.

Sweeney flips the lock open on the door and leans against the wall behind it to light a new cigarette. The flame throws Sweeney's face into focus for a moment, cheeks reddened and sweat dotting his forehead. He's still hard.

Closing the distance between them again, Shadow steals the cigarette from Sweeney’s fingers and takes a drag off the end. Through the released smoke, Shadow says, “Every fucking time I think I'm starting to understand some of this, the rules change again.”

Sweeney exhales smoke up towards the ceiling and closes his eyes, looking satisfied, as if he was the one who just got off.

“This has fuck all to do with _them_ , Shadow Moon.”

* * *

 

As Shadow trails Sweeney back to the front of the casino to the hotel reception, he finds himself pressing into Sweeney's side too closely because of the jostling crowds. Despite their height and size, they're caught behind a jam of tourists moving in the opposite direction. As Shadow moves along with their pushing tide, something catches his eye.

One of the tourists has a small plastic bucket filled with coins, certainly not unusual in a casino, and Shadow might mistake them for quarters if he weren't paying attention. But a closer look reveals they're covered with the same obscure symbols found on Sweeney's coins. These are silver though, but maybe— Shadow stops and turns around, finding other similar buckets until he spots what he's looking for. Golden coins, identical to Sweeney's.

“Look,” Shadow insists, pointing to the bucket before they exit the casino doors leading to the hotel lobby. “They're using your coins in the casino. In the slots.”

“Aye, I am aware,” Sweeney dismisses. “I imagine she has a vault full of the fucken things, hoarded from our kind. Given willingly or not. Ain’t many of us left anymore so they become a prize to use as she pleases; she fills the casino with them, to make it all the more alluring. Intoxicating even for you lot, _fucken humans_.”

They check in at the reception counter, and the staff greet them both by name. They don't have any luggage, but that doesn’t seem strange to anyone at reception. Shadow tries not to think about how eerie all of this makes him feel. Like they’re being watched all the time. Sweeney doesn’t seem bothered by it, or perhaps he’s too distracted by other things for it to matter much. He half listens to the man checking them in, pockets both of their key cards, and leaves their check-out date as _unconfirmed_ and their payment method as _third party_.

Shadow says, “You hungry? We could—” while they're waiting for the elevator, standing a little too close together. There's an elderly couple standing near, a printed map of the Vegas strip unfolded between them. Their heads are bent over it so Shadow’s sure they aren't listening in.

“Just shut your gob,” Sweeney whispers so only Shadow can hear him. He’s annoyed, words all bluff with the urgency so close behind them. It just makes Shadow grin wider. Sweeney ends with, “We are well and properly past wining and dining, and there's fucken room service for your midnight cravings, sweetheart.”

* * *

 

Once they’ve found the room, Sweeney wastes no time losing his clothing. He throws his jacket and braces off before he’s inside the doorway, not bothering to get a feel for his surroundings first. His shirt follows, left abandoned on the floor, boots kicked off with an impatient swear, tracking dirt across the pristine carpets.

Still curious about the coins, Shadow watches from the door, arms crossed at his chest while he feigns nonchalance. Something’s bothering him about all of it, but he’s not sure what it is yet. “Could _she_ give you another coin? A lucky one, I mean? I really doubt Laura will be returning the other one, so—”

Turning to look at him, Sweeney frowns at the suggestion, and Shadow thinks he probably said exactly the wrong thing, so he braces himself for a scathing insult, but when it doesn't come, he thinks— no, _maybe I said exactly the right thing._

After a moment, Sweeney nods solemnly, confirming, but he gives Shadow a wounded look that's a little panicked too.

“I cannot ask her for it,” he says, and then seems to dismiss the idea all together, continues removing his clothing.

“Then I'll get it for you,” Shadow decides aloud, like it’s that easy, like he even knows where to start.

“Ain’t here to solve all my fucken problems, Shadow Moon. Solving the one in my trousers is good enough for now, so keep any other ideas to yourself.”

They're likely in a nonsmoking room, but Sweeney takes a cigarette out anyway. Despite his words, the moment of urgency appears to be broken for now. Sweeney throws himself down on the sofa. He looks uncomfortable with how he sinks into it, so he puts his bare feet upon the short coffee table and holds the lit cigarette out and away from his body. His thoughts look far away, closed off again, and he holds the cigarette more than smokes it, ashes floating away as it burns.

That's okay. They have time. Shadow lets the door swing closed behind him with a heavy click. He's not going anywhere, after all.

The massive curtains are open wide in the living space, letting in the afternoon summer sun. It feels like it should be later than it is.

There's a full kitchen and a table for dining, roman themed portraits of macro scenery in the sitting room, and unnecessary crown molding and columned accents that are intended to give it all an expensive atmosphere. It still feels closer to a prison cell than a home to Shadow, stark and impersonal, bleach white sheets and towels, everything in inoffensive neutral shades of brown and tan. A temporary space for a visitor passing through to someplace else, a waypoint. Prison always felt the same way.

The only exit is through the door Shadow’s standing near, twin elevators to the right and down the hall, two staircases in opposite directions, framing the corners. If Shadow had a choice, they would be closer to the ground. Always plan for a quick exit if you can. Prison had taught him more than forced humility.

There's a room service menu on the counter with a wine list tucked into the laminated pages. Shadow fingers its plastic edge, and says, “So should I order, or were you planning to fuck me now?”

He says it because he needs to get Sweeney out of his head. That much is easy to see.

Sweeney doesn't look at Shadow when he counters with, “Reserved a place for you right here,” patting his thighs, sinking down low on the sofa and spreading them wide, but he's still largely uninterested.

Shadow finds a short glass in a kitchen cabinet, fills it with an inch of water from the sink, and brings it into the living room, toeing off his shoes as he moves. Taking the cigarette from Sweeney, he smokes the last salvageable drag from it before dropping it into the glass.

Sweeney lets him take it without comment, watches Shadow unbutton his white shirt and remove it from his shoulders. He's got Sweeney's attention now, lids heavy with the same lust he's carried with him since Utah. Shadow empties the contents of his pockets on the coffee table; Zorya Polunochnaya’s silvermoon liberty-head dollar, the car keys to their rented sedan, this month's salary folded between a weathered rubber band, a thick roll of fifties and hundreds, then lets his pants fall to the ground, steps out of them with purpose.

And there's a thought. He picks up Sweeney's pants and raises his eyebrows in question because he's positive Sweeney's the kind of person that wouldn't want anyone rummaging through his impossibly bottomless pockets. Sweeney shrugs, says, “Back right pocket.” Knows what Shadow’s looking for without asking.

Shadow finds lube and a string of wrapped condoms exactly there, lays them out next to the other items.

Sweeney feels it necessary to add, “Just so we're clear, I wasn't planning for this.”

Shadow shrugs. He believes Sweeney, but couldn't be bothered to care either way. “I haven't planned any of the fucked up nonsense my life has become since they let me out. And just so _we're_ clear, I'm not even drunk anymore.” Shadow braces himself on Sweeney's shoulder before lowering himself onto the other man's thighs.

Sweeney grabs a handful of Shadow’s ass and shifts until they both find a comfortable position, head lolling back against the cushions when he's satisfied. “Should be a flask in the same pocket, piss water by now, but if you wanted something to ease the way—”

“I do,” Shadow sighs, reaching behind him for the lube, “just not that.” And he hits Sweeney's chest with the bottle.

* * *

 

At four in the morning, Shadow waits until he's sure Sweeney is sleeping before easing on his boxers and an undershirt. In the bedroom, Sweeney sleeps on his stomach with piles of stark white blankets and a fluffy duvet pulled so tightly around him, Shadow is sure he must be sweating under all of it. It might matter more to someone else, but these days, Shadow finds he sleeps best with the thinnest of sheets, or nothing at all covering him. Prison never gave him much of a choice in that respect.

The thought of burrowing under the covers with Sweeney, pushed up close behind him, leaves Shadow smiling because he’s not at all sure how Sweeney might react to something like that. Shadow would do it too, if it didn’t make him sweat just thinking about it.

Being with the same person for so long made Shadow forget how different sex is with someone new. This night, he's learned what it feels like to have Sweeney's hot sweat-slick skin against his. He's learned how vocal and demanding they both can be when there’s no space between them and little time to think about it. There's also the surprisingly quiet way Sweeney comes, and the unexpected pleasure in being fucked by someone who makes Shadow feel small. After, he'd learned how Sweeney prefers to fall asleep wrapped in blankets, once he was finally too exhausted to continue with a new round.  

Shadow feels like he could sleep for days, limbs heavy and already aching after trying to keep up with Sweeney all night, but sleep never comes easily anymore. He’s spent an hour already wondering how much of Sweeney’s unguarded enthusiasm was because of Fortuna and this place, and how much of it is just— Sweeney being Sweeney. There’s a little thrill in knowing he’ll soon find out. Shadow thought he was content with the variety of sex he’s already experienced in his life, but a few hours with Sweeney has taught him he’s got a fucking lot to learn. That doesn’t scare him as much as it probably should.

Taking a few dollars with him, he quietly leaves the room, keycard in hand. He’s sure he saw a row of vending machines in the little room containing an ice machine at the end of the corridor. It’s strange. A big hotel like this usually doesn’t have such a place anymore.

Of course, it gets stranger because Fortuna is there, feeding the first machine in the row with a dollar bill. She has on a white bathrobe and is wholly unremarkable in her fraying bedroom slippers.

“Hi,” Shadow greets her and helps line up her bill so the machine accepts it.

“Oh, thank you, darling.” She feels the ridges of the braille covering the metal numbers. It’s an older machine with no digital screen. She says, “I’d like the Hostess Cupcake with the little swirl of white frosting down the center, you know the one. What number is it?”

Shadow tells her. After it drops down and he retrieves it for her, he says, “Funny how you would turn up exactly when I need to speak with you.” He feeds a dollar into the next machine over and punches in the numbers for a Coke for Sweeney and a sweet tea for himself. After a moment of consideration, he gives the ice cream machine a dollar too, remembering Sweeney has an inexplicable thing for fudgesicles.

“Yes, we’ll get to that. How was your night?” she smiles.

Shadow feels like he’s made a confession to his mother before he’s even said anything. “Fine,” Shadow confirms, feeling his skin warm, thankful she can’t see his face. “The hotel is— nice. Really nice. Despite the crush of people, it has a way of making you feel— kind of peaceful and centered. I’m not use to—”

“Of course you wouldn’t be used to it.” Her tone is even and free from judgement. “This place has been my home for some time. It allows for just enough privacy, I would say. And some measure of protection from those you don’t want prying, if you were curious about such a thing.”

“I don’t really understand what you’re getting at, but I’m going to pretend I understand, maybe just so I don’t have to clarify on my end,” Shadow thinks aloud. “Which is a good summary of my general state for the last few weeks, actually.”

Fortuna nods sagely. “I only mean— secrets will stay secrets here, if that’s what you wanted.” Her unseeing eyes drift somewhere over his left shoulder, back toward the direction of their room. “I believe you have something to ask of me?”

Shadow doesn’t know if he wants it to remain a secret. Lately, his connection with Sweeney seems to be the only thing that makes sense to him, and he’s hoping that feeling is shared.

“I do have a question, but I’m hesitating because I’ve been told you'll not want to say _no_ a second time.”

“No, I don't believe you really wanted to ask me again about Wednesday’s plan, Shadow Moon, but I'll humor you this time. At least one of us has to say _no_ to him, and your charm and cool logic will not change my mind on this. If I give him my favor, it upsets the delicate balance to this world in ways he or I cannot anticipate. Humanity is too precious to me to take that chance. That is my role here and to be quite frank, Wednesday knows this too. If I were you, I’d be suspicious of the true reason he’s sending you to me when he already knows the answer I’ll give him. Do you know where he is at the moment?”

Shadow doesn’t. And now he’s sure he doesn’t want to know either.

Without waiting for Shadow to ask the real question, Fortuna takes Shadow’s hand and presses something round and metalic into his palm. When he opens his hand, there's a simple quarter there, as plain as the ones lost between the seats of their rented sedan. It's dull and worn, and Shadow holds it tightly in his fist to see if it will warm to his palm. It does. He flips it high and catches it, tests it to see if it’s weighted. It isn’t. Does a small slight of hand maneuver, making it disappear, and it acts as any other quarter would.

Fortuna says, “Please do not mistake this for something it isn’t. A coin like this won't save Mad Sweeney, but it might ease his mind for a while. I’m afraid he's done some things he feels he should pay dearly for, and those are his demons to bear.”

“Laura?”

Fortuna nods. She reaches forward to fold the coin into Shadow’s fist. “He dwells in the past as some of us are want to do, but we must all look forward to truly _live_.”

Shadow leads her by the elbow, snacks in his other hand, to the hallway.  “Despite how the two of you began, I can see you are right for each other. You have convinced me of that, Shadow Moon. Let it be enough for now, and I will deal with Wednesday when the time is right.”

“Thank you,” Shadow breathes. “For the coin.”

Her smile makes him feel light and at ease, warmed from the inside out. “Good night, Shadow. Don’t be afraid to take chances. You might surprise yourself.”

She clicks open her walking stick and starts off down the hallway unassisted.

* * *

 

Sweeney’s quieter on the drive back, but keeps the gifted quarter in his hands all the time.

When Shadow gave it to him, pressed it into the hand not covered in dripping chocolate from the fudgesicle, Sweeney didn’t believe him, said Fortuna would never trust him with such a thing. Too precious and rare for a rotten fuck like him.

It doesn’t matter if it’s lucky or not, Sweeney finds something soothing in holding it between thumb and forefinger. Even if it won’t save him, _save them_ , that comfort is enough for Shadow to count it as a victory of sorts.

At a gas station in Kansas, Sweeney says, “It was me. I'm the reason your dead wife— _died.”_

Shadow thinks about all the ways he could respond, because it does still hurt. He won’t deny that it’s fucking painful to hear it said aloud, even now, but he also knows this confession is not entirely true either. Sweeney isn’t the only one responsible for Laura’s death and so he just says, “I know.”

“ _Fucken_ Wednesday.” Sweeney immediately, and accurately assumes Wednesday told Shadow about his part in Laura’s death. Sweeney jams the gas nozzle when he tries to free it from the car too forcefully. When he does manage to release it, he slams the nozzle back into the pump with a swear.

“I fully intend to murder that fucker before anyone has the sac to put me in the ground!”

The sun is settling into the horizon behind Sweeney’s profile, vivid purples and oranges fanning out in flames behind the swaying corn fields.

Shadow leans against the roof of the car on the passenger’s side, rests his chin in his folded arms and can’t help grinning at Sweeney still swearing to himself indistinctly on the driver’s side of the car. Shadow watches him pace toward the convenience store and back, kicks a trash can over until it’s badly dented and scratched. Then he groans and tries to fix it upright again.

Shadow will admit they are both utterly fucked for getting themselves into something like this, can already feel Wednesday’s seething disapproval dripping in just beyond them, just out of reach. Two existing in isolation are far easier to manipulate, to control, than two looking out for each other. This turn of events will certainly interrupt Wednesday’s plans, and might even end with both of their deaths, if Shadow’s honest with himself. After everything he’s learned since prison, he’s convinced there are worse ways to go out in this world. They at least have Fortuna’s favor, whatever that might mean.

Coming back to the car, Sweeney picks at the wrapper of his cigarette pack for a while, frowning down at it with one hip cocked into the driver side door. Fortuna’s quarter appears at some point, its surface a comforting glow of silver in the twilight, distinct and solid while he flips it across his knuckles, over and under.

Shadow waits. He’s good at that.

Much calmer now, Sweeney says, “Knowing what I did, why are you still here?”

There it is. Shadow’s been waiting for that question.

“Wednesday is ruthless in pursuing what he wants. We’re all disposable to him,” Shadow begins. “I get that now. Maybe choosing to _not_ blame you for Laura’s death is my way of keeping Wednesday from completely worming his way into my skull. We both have a choice here.”

Sweeney raises an eyebrow in disbelief and scoffs, but he finally looks at Shadow too. That’s okay. Shadow has time to convince him this is the way forward. With a unlit cigarette between his lips, and a flick of the lighter at his side, Sweeney says, “You think this thing between us will keep Wednesday from getting everything he wants?”

“Yeah, I do.” Shadow nods. “I think it's a start.”


End file.
